


Chasing Ghosts

by Itar94



Series: Building Neutron Stars [12]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (the character death isn't John or Rodney), AU, Advanced Conception, Alpha Rodney McKay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Ascended Rodney, Ascension, Building Neutron Stars: The John/Rodney Arc, Canonical Character Death, Children of Characters, Email Correspondence, Episode: s03e17 Sunday, Episode: s03e19 Vengeance, M/M, Mentions of miscarriage, Mpreg, Omega John Sheppard, Original Character(s), Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Protective Ronon, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’d been a dream. Nothing more. Waking up at midnight, his throat had been dry and limbs heavy, and slightly lightheaded he’d gone to the debriefing. By the time he’d reached the tall doors to the conference room he’d almost forgotten about it.</p><p>
  <i>(warning for s03e17 Sunday)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Lightspeed** /laɪtspiːd/  
[noun]  
_the speed of light in vacuum (299,792,458 meters per second),_  
_commonly denoted c [physical constant];_  
_the speed of which one wishes to travel at to reach other stars_

Depending on points of view, Rodney spends twelve Lantean days or an eternity without a normal human body. (Or perhaps just seconds, because everything is relative). But his memories are very vague and nothing and everything makes sense, and upon returning, finally, from the glow, he cannot be sure it ever happened.

* * *

There are only these short snatches of things. Milliseconds in time. Glimpses of moments that he misses while he he’s gone. He sees Lantea spin on its axis a hundred times as it lazily circles the sun that one day will become a red giant. Maybe he is gone a day, a minute.

On Earth there is war and there is peace, there are people squabbling and people pleading and people marching on the streets demonstrating something (he’s been out of the loop for too long to care about what). He sees his sister back with her husband in Vancouver, their garden thrives and they’re baking cookies with Madison. and in Cheyenne Mountain another wormhole engages, SG1 stepping through to someplace that does not matter to him at the moment (but maybe for the Milky Way galaxy and beyond; one day it might have consequences). There’s a war silently raging across the whole of Pegasus, worlds he knows and those he’s never visited being ravaged by the Wraith, some cultures shockingly advanced drawing arms against the creatures. Civilisations dawn and fall like heartbeats.

He never realized how many there are.

* * *

The sunsets over Atlantis are quiet.

In the mornings, he glimpses his team - scattered, not speaking but holding on tight. Teyla’s meditating and sometimes John’s there too with her, fruitlessly trying to close his eyes and relax and breathe like her. There’s Ronon slamming marines into the mattress of the gym as they train and John’s there too with him, sadness and disbelief and fury making his face pale and his arms stronger. The omega doesn’t seem to listen to orders to stand down, to pause, to breathe. To stop running laps and laps and laps around the city’s edges, his feet burning. To stop hitting things, knuckles bleeding.

(There are silent nights when the Satedan and the Athosian hold him, without wavering, even when he screams at them or turns his back. They never leave.)  
He sees John curled up, alone and frozen in grief, in disbelief, fighting against the hands reaching out to give comfort. The omega is repeating, his voice like an echo in a dried-up well - _He’s not dead. We’re going to fix this. Rodney isn’t dead. He’s out there. He’ll return. He’s not dead._

* * *

(They never leave people behind.)

* * *

There is knowledge filling his essence that he couldn’t have fathomed before. and he knows he has to return, has to forget all this.  
But he doesn’t want to forget. Doesn’t want to end up stranded somewhere naked with a severe case of amnesia. He could forget his name. Forget Atlantis. Forget John and their daughter.

* * *

Rodney isn’t even sure how long it is possible to be gone, before he’ll be noticed for trying to interfere. Fixing things. Something nearly blows up in one of the labs. There’s an accident off-world, a team nearly trapped by a culling beam. But. Just almost.

On a planet with the Stargate in orbit, one they have never dialled, a civilization dies. On another, people have just started figuring out how to split the atom.

* * *

(Sometime - it was years or days ago. Right before he left. They had sat on the pier, John had dragged him out there with a beer and the sky was blanketed in stars, the moon gleaming. Rodney had been slowly dying. He remembers their conversation now. It had been muted, maybe not mattered, they’d been a bit drunk. John missed, he’d told him, missed that orange fleece he’d worn when they’d first laid eyes on one another in Antarctica, a lifetime ago. Rodney isn’t sure where it’s ended up. Probably in a locker somewhere back on Earth, under the Mountain. It was the last time he heard John laugh - two days later he had vanished in light and failed to return.

_You know that silly dream of growing old together? At first, it’s kind of romantic, after first meetings, thinking it’d work out seamlessly like that. Then, it’s ... terrifying. A petrifying thought. Never being alone again. And then - it’s wrestled out of your hands anyway, because things like that always are, and you always die alone, even in a crowd._

He’s not sure who said it, if one of them began and the other finished the sentence. It wasn’t whole, anyway, he’s just filling in gaps now with the words that might have been there. They hadn’t slept that night.)

* * *

He sees John dream about the city’s spires and jumpers flying across the glittering waves, the sky wide and unexplored, and there’s laughter and safe voices in the background. In the shock waves of a sudden explosion, Rodney tumbles to the ground in a desert and there’s blood everywhere; and John is lying half-conscious is in an infirmary, Carson apologizing far too gently, _We had to remove it surgically; there were complications; if you ever wanted -_

* * *

(They’d discussed siblings once, just days after the birth, after reuniting, when the sun had seemed to shine twice as bright.

Because while John lost contact with his brother the moment he joined the Air Force, he still remembers their childhood and playing in the lawn together. Because Rodney has begun retaking what he and Jeannie had once, before their parents died, before she married. And they had wanted to give Marie that. That chance. One day. If time and chance allowed.

Then the miscarriage had happened and John hadn’t told him just how much it hurt and Rodney had started to assume it would go away, that it would fade, that no pain could be ever-lasting.

Now it’s too late and Rodney realizes he’d never understood the seriousness of John’s desire, that tiny wish flickering like a candlelight waiting to fade. He hadn’t understood.

They had talked too little.)

* * *

_They never leave people behind._

* * *

Wounds and scars can be healed. Rodney stares at his non-corporeal hands, thinking that maybe, maybe, possibly. Like a gift. If he returns without memories. And he’s not sure if it’d count as interference, really. Then, he could interfere before some disaster occurs. Save lives. Yeah.

This is important.

* * *

(The human body is a machine. A set of components. Biological and complex in design, but he can see through matter now. Can take it apart and push it back together.)

* * *

It’s night and Atlantis’ towers are gleaming so warmly, so welcoming. No one sees his shadow approach; he chooses not to let them see, and they do no sense the energy he has now become. It’s still strange and he hasn’t quite grasped it (except he has and he knows, and it’s all very weird, really).

Their quarters are eerily quiet. There’s a single night-lamp softly glowing next to the cradle where their daughter just has been rocked to sleep. The floor is a mess, clothes and various items strewn about, including a TAC vest and a gun a knife. And it’s all lying there dangerous and still in the night. A chair has been upturned, the walls trembled, and now - now, the silence after the storm. He can almost smell the lingering grief, a sense of helplessness, an utter loneliness that makes his heart wrench (had he had a physical one). Twisted restlessly in the sheets, there’s sweat on the omega’s furrowed brow and his hands are tightly fisted as he stands on the edge of restless wakefulness.  
John is dreaming about him. He’s having nightmares.

 _I’m going to return, I swear,_ Rodney promises _, but - if I can’t - (I want to give this gift)._

And he reaches out.


	2. Chapter 2

 Rodney has been gone for six days.

 _No, not gone_ , John tells himself quickly, biting his tongue. Not gone. Just - out there. Lingering. He’ll figure out a way to return. Interfere or something and get kicked back to the mortal plane of existence. Rodney shouldn’t be able to help himself from poking his nose into things.

At least ... at least he should be watching.

* * *

John is pretty sure he’s dreaming.

The walls around him are dark and slowly thawing. Somewhere calling from-far, through a broken radio, a voice is rasping (and he knows that voice, knows it too well), _John? I can’t find_ \- and there are alarms blearing. The city is drowning. And there is a light, suddenly, a light reaching down and it pulls him up - _John!_

* * *

He startles awake, without being disturbed by any noise or abrupt chilliness in the air; maybe it’s a dream in a dream. His gaze travels to the cradle but their daughter doesn’t appear to be disturbed; he throws of the sheets and tiptoes quietly across the room to her side anyway, just to make sure. She’s safe and sound asleep, cooing in contentment as he tucks her in and gently sets the cradle into a rocking motion. The last few days she’s just started teething, causing her mild pain, and it’s a huge relief to see her undisturbed.

Nothing here. Nothing.

It was just a dream.

* * *

He finds no more sleep that night (just like most nights before). He goes for a run before Ronon even is up, which rarely happens as the big guy likes waking with the dawn; he checks he has that radio with him, tuned to one near Marie’s bed, in case she wakes. She doesn’t. The corridors blur beneath his feet and by the time he stops his ankles are burning, and it’s a comfort even if it eases none of the pain etched into his chest. As he returns Marie’s just starting to stir. The rest of the morning routines happen on automatic - as always - and he tries to think of each action, to focus, so stop hoping for Rodney’s presence because it won’t appear. (Not yet. Soon. _Soon._ He can’t let himself stop believing yet.)

There’s a debriefing in the morning and for once he’s first there; without anyone hogging the coffee machine he can pour himself a large cup without interruption. No one is babbling away in his ear, soothingly, tone a little annoyed, about whatever incidents had happened in the labs the evening before or what they might expect on the planet of today’s agenda. The thought itself is terribly unsettling and his stomach keeps turning, and he ends up just sipping carefully, the taste oddly foul. _(Rodney would always steal it. Every damn morning -)_

He settles by the table, doors closing as the city senses his thoughts almost without himself being aware, and closes his eyes listening to the hum of Atlantis as Marie feeds. It’s distant and warm. Home. This way, he can pretend Rodney’s sitting right next to him. It’s easy to imagine his voice, ever-going, so solidly present. His scent - it has begun to fade. But John won’t forget it.

It’s also terribly lonely.

He startles a little when one of the doors open with a whoosh, but relaxes when seeing that it’s Elizabeth, a datapad under her arm, and not a marine demanding his attention for a crisis. Some relief, at least.

She must know how uncomfortable he is about nursing with others present, but she doesn’t react or comment or order him to hide; it’s been many months now, and this isn’t the first time she’s stumbled on him like this. Instead, she takes seat and begins conversation lightly about little things that do not matter and he follows easily, glad to be offered distraction. Still, self-conscious, he tries drawing Marie away and buttoning up his black shirt but she just whines, digging her palms into his chest angrily, and with a sigh he gives in. From the corner of his eye he catches a small, fond smile on Elizabeth’s face. For a moment he wonders what she’s thinking; she’s not mated, not yet - there was someone, before Atlantis, he knows this. Elizabeth rarely speaks of him or other personal things, however. But she’s shared interesting glances with Caldwell lately and alpha-alpha relationships are usually difficult, but John wants her to be happy. If only everyone could be. She’s worked twice as hard than most people to get here, so god knows she deserves it. This is her dream.

A sudden sharp pain causes him to grimace, cutting him off in mid-word. Marie has started teething and Rodney doesn’t even know. Maybe he’ll _never_ know.

The unwanted thought rattles John to the bone. Elizabeth must’ve noticed him suddenly flinching because she looks up from her cup of coffee, frowning, but he just shakes his head, quietly looking away. _It’s nothing._

(What if he won’t return?)

* * *

The meeting is too quiet and though he keeps adamantly insisting that _Rodney will return (he’ll find a way),_ there’s pity in Elizabeth’s eyes though she must at least be pretending to still be hoping. Ronon, who doesn’t quite grasp the thing about ascension or it’s allure (because John agrees with him that there is none), just wraps a hand around the omega’s arm steadfastly.

It’s not unusual for alphas and omegas losing one another to give in to sorrow and for some the grief can be maddening and kill them from within, but John refuses to let that happen. Not while there’s still a chance. He’s not alone, and he knows that, clinging to that support as much as it is given. He’s even meditated with Teyla a couple of times to find calm and peace and - maybe, maybe he could reach out and find Rodney in the void, if he’s anywhere nearby (if he’s listening).

(Maybe he’s blowing up another solar system).

If _he’d_ been the one ascending, he wouldn’t have wanted Rodney to cave in. He wouldn’t have wanted him to ever stop searching. Not until there’s a cold body to the buried.

* * *

It’d been a dream. Nothing more.

There’d been a light in it, appearing all of a sudden, a light that didn’t fit within the walls he’d frantically clawed at to get free. And he’d been aware of his lover’s scent then, a ghost of it at least, a reminder of a presence. It had gently wrapped around him, and he’d tried to grasp it and ask _Rodney? Is that you?_ but not managed to find words.

Waking up at midnight, his throat had been dry and limbs heavy, and slightly lightheaded he’d gone to the debriefing. By the time he’d reached the tall doors to the conference room he’d almost forgotten about it.

* * *

No one tells him to forget or stop hoping, but he can see it in many people’s eyes. _Let go,_ they whisper _. Let go._

There are other issues to focus on. The Wraith are still out there and they have people to protect and trade alliances to keep up with. The sudden loss of Rodney was a harsh blow and John is sore and bruised by it, but they must pick themselves up again and move on.

Always move on.

* * *

P8X-298 is a jungle world with multi-coloured plant life and tall trees that easily could rival anything on Earth. About a mile from the gate lives a tribe, thriving in its simplicity, a gatherer-hunter society that by chance or skill has managed to survive multiple cullings by the Wraith; perhaps they find the terrain difficult to hunt humans in. The days are long, about thirty hours, and the sunlight strong; the air is heavy and moist, and John feels clammy already by the short walk to the settlement.

It’s one of many worlds discovered rather early by the expedition and they’ve been trading with them for foodstuffs and basic clothing materials - they are some furry creatures that are both good for eating and making winter gear, and the latter had been especially important when they had been cut off from Earth, unable to replace clothing with things they were used to. It’s the usual deal; in return the natives get medicines and also some agricultural advice, though they seem content as it is. Besides, without crops to maintain they can more easily move around their camps to avoid the enemy.

Elizabeth had insisted they take someone with them to number four. Someone to take Rodney’s place. And it felt like cheating, it’s _wrong_ and the thought had been sickening, but John had complied. Staff Sergeant Mason has worked with them before and he knows Teyla and Ronon better than most thanks to that; the Brit will have their back, at least, even if his place isn’t really with them. And the man appears aware of this as well. (He doesn’t say anything, but John can read it on his face, his questions, this worry if John should really go on a mission right now, if he shouldn’t linger in the city halls and wait. But wait for what? While on the move it’s easier to focus and not crumble.)

* * *

Their team has been forced apart too many times already.

* * *

Half-way to the village they’re met up by the community Elders (it’s as democratic as it gets, since the Elders are determined by voting as well as age, though on all earlier visits Rodney had of course complained about the lack of a _proper_ democracy that includes all ages and all genders. He’d also complained about the large mosquitoes and the doubtfully clean water and a thousand other things like usual, and the memory of his lover’s voice makes John’s chest clench tightly, his breath hitching, and he forcibly pushes the thought away. _Not now_ ). They’ve had a nice hunting season apparently and soon the large rains will sweep in and for the following moon-turn (which is more like eighteen days on this planet) everything will be drenched and people huddling in tents and mud huts.

Maybe it’s the heat or the humidity, but John’s dizzy and he clenches his jaw, just focusing on his footsteps and letting Teyla do all of the talking. No one appears to notice anyway and that’s good, it wouldn’t do to interrupt since he’s not sure how the new Elders feel about the Lanteans and they don’t want to insult them or anything.

Just a drink of water, a pause for breath. That’s all he needs. He shouldn’t feel like this, he knows, he shouldn’t be winded or have an unsteady, swimming vision.

His canteen is emptied all too soon. Teyla is negotiating prices and exchanges but he barely listens. There’s a strong ceremonial tea following, there always is among these people, and a print of a hand to be put on paper (they have no written language as such). And previously he’s not had an issue with this tea, which they’ve tested for allergies and poisons and it’s been okayed by the doctors back home - but now the mere smell of it causes him to suddenly twist away from the table and retch. He’s not even aware that he’s doing it. There’s sweat coating his brow, and then for some reason he’s lying down and why is Teyla worriedly repeating his name so loudly?

Sergeant Mason kneels next to him. “Sir?”

“We should head back,” Ronon is saying, voice oddly grave, ignoring the omega’s protest of _Look, I’m fine, really_ \- “Something’s wrong.”

“He has no reacted this way to the brew before,” Teyla notes and then is talking to the Elder in tones too gentle for him to pick up. John closes his eyes. The dizziness doesn’t feel as bad then.

Mason is still there. His scent and presence is unfamiliar, hovering nearby. And he wishes again and again that it was Rodney’s presence there instead; it should be Rodney. Someone is dabbing his forehead and neck with a piece of cloth. “Sir, can you hear me? - He’s not responding. Maybe, dunno, that tea ...”

“Drank lots,” Ronon cuts in, succinct as always. “Good stuff. Not poisoned. Teyla?”

“It tasted no different than in the past. I agree with you. Please, Elder Taun, we must return through the Ring. The healers of our people can aid the Colonel.”

“I swear, Lady Emmagan, that harming neither of you was our intention. If he has caught an illness of our world, then our healers may be able to help.”  
John tries blinking again and finds that the sun isn’t glaring down at him. Someone’s covered his eyes. _Thank god,_ he doesn’t manage to say aloud, _I think my head’s going to explode._

“Think that?” Mason is saying. “Maybe we’re all infected with something native to this planet, and Colonel Sheppard caught it first ...”

“Ronon, go to the gate and dial home, and explain to Dr Weir what is going on via radio. Sergeant Mason might have a point. If he is carrying an illness, we must not risk bringing it back to base. They must put up a quarantine,” Teyla says and there is the rustle of movement over the singing birds in the distance. John tries pulling himself up, but Ronon’s large hand is pushing him down again, telling him to lie still and reluctantly John feels himself slacken. “Sergeant Mason and I shall wait until -”

There might have been more to her sentence than that, but he’s passed out before she finishes it.

* * *

Next thing he knows, he’s in the gate room; the air is a lot cooler now and his eyes are no longer covered, and it significantly eases the pounding in his head. And someone is carrying him, someone tall, the grip tight and concerned; the man’s steps are vibrating through his arms into John’s body. Before his eyes are fully opened and he’s aware of who exactly is lifting him, he’s trying to struggle free, an instinct born long ago, but Ronon holds fast - _Ronon!_ At the realization - Ronon, safe, Atlantis, _home_ \- the knots of tension begin to resolve.

The Satedan says something with a low voice and he’s put down on a gurney. There are voices around him, and Carson is there, other doctors and nurses swarming around. So many scents. He sees the ceiling of the gate room disappear as the gurney is moved through the corridors to the infirmary; a swift two minute walk at most, but a couple of meters in everything goes dark and quiet again.

* * *

The second time he wakes, his head is much clearer and eyes not pained by the light that dim as soon as he becomes aware of them. He’s also lying in an infirmary bed dressed in white scrubs. _Not_ his favourite position. With a small groan, he looks left to right, gaze settling on the doctor sitting by a nearby desk. The man is writing on a datapad, filing scans or something.

“Hey.”

Carson is quick to move to the bedside. “Hello, Colonel. It’s good to see you awake again. How are you feeling?”

He tests a few words on the back of his tongue until he finds one that fits. “Thirsty.”

“Here. Careful.” A plastic cup is brought to his hands, and he drinks eagerly, making sure to do it slowly because otherwise the doctor will glare at him or worse take the water away. The cool liquid it soothing on his throat. “We’re still getting some test results back and I don’t want you to eat something solid for a bit. You’re a wee bit dehydrated. Now, what brought this on?”

John frowns. “Don’t know. I felt fine this morning.”

“No headaches, dizziness, nausea...?”

“No. Well,” he admits because he’s lied to doctors a lot and now Carson is getting that warning, stern look again, and all answers from the test results will probably crush any untruths he tells. “I started getting a bit of a headache after my morning run. But it wasn’t that bad, honestly.”

“So it didn’t start on P8X-298,” Carson says thoughtfully. “That’s a jungle planet, yes? Perhaps the combination of humidity and heat made it worse ... Teyla told me you got sick by some their tea. Now, we got samples back and there is nothing to indicate food poisoning.”

“I’ve drunk it before. When we discovered ’298 and had that welcoming ritual ... thing,” John recalls. His voice is steady now and he exhales in relief. The worst seems to have passed. Maybe he’s just coming down with the flu, or something. “The smell set me off. Never liked it anyway. Look, doc, I feel much better now.”

“Perhaps so, but I want you to stay in this bed until we’ve sorted this out, son.”

“Is my team all right?” He bites his lip before any names manage to pass them. Before he can blurt _Rodney_ into that question.

“They’re fine, though I am keeping an eye on them too. It doesn’t seem they’ve come down with anything. I don’t think it’s a sickness you got on the planet, but one can never be too certain.”

“Great.” Though he’s not sure in what manner (or if he’s being sarcastic; he hasn’t decided). He has to hold back a sigh at the thought of the failed mission; no Wraith this time, or a Genii ambush, and maybe that should be a relief but shame flames up inside him anyway. A simple bout of sickness shouldn’t have to fuck up a mission, especially not one to a friendly planet they’ve encountered before. He’d better talk to Teyla and see how it went. Hopefully Elizabeth has sent her or someone else back to finish the trading.

“You should try sleeping for a bit. Am I right to assume you haven’t gotten much of that lately?”

He looks away, chest clenching. “Probably.”

To his relief Carson doesn’t ask anything more. Right now he cannot give any more answers.

* * *

Why is there no sign of him? He should have been able to return now! He should materialize in the control room any minute now, a human, normal, disoriented and naked but himself; he should. Any moment now. He _has to._

He should be returned. Or. But - yes. If he wants to. If he can.

(Surely he can? Surely he _wants to_?)


	3. Chapter 3

Rodney has been gone for six days.

* * *

He considers writing another email to his brother. To say, perhaps: _Hi Dave, I’m still alive and Rodney has been missing for almost a week now and they’re listing him MIA but he’s **not dead** and no one seems to realize that_ \- but there is just too much he cannot reveal without breaking the silence he signed his name upon three years ago and there is no way to make his brother understand. And he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want to hear another half-hearted I’m so sorry. Not what everyone else in Atlantis have already said or are thinking - with the exceptions of Teyla and Ronon, who seem to understand better, knowing that such words don’t matter to John - what he’s heard from Earth.

What he wants to hear, he guesses, is something more along the lines of: _Of course he’s alive. He’ll find a way back to you_.

* * *

“You haven’t come down with a pathogen. John -” and Carson only uses his first name when something bad is coming, something serious, and the omega braces himself (have Ronon and Teyla fallen ill too? is it worse? so much could be worse than a pathogen) - “You’re pregnant.”

For a moment he simply cannot breathe.

It’s just - not possible. After, after the grenade, after the surgery, Carson himself had told him that the chances of another child was so slim it’s virtually impossible. And Rodney isn’t here and he’d slipped away during his final days, trying to squeeze out more from his super smart brain and seeking ascension as a way to survive. It simply _cannot be._

So all he finds himself saying is, “No. No fucking way.”

“John, I’ve checked twice to make certain. You’re definitely testing positive. Besides, your heat is nearly a week overdue.”

“But.” It shouldn’t be. It _can’t._ “How -” He wants to ask simply _how?_ or possibly _why?,_ but Carson can’t answer that. Instead, he finishes, jerkily, “How far along am I?”

“I’d say just a couple of days. We do have some Ancient technology here that is much more precise than anything from Earth and I’d like getting you under the scanner to check.”

A part of him could start screaming now, in disbelief and joy and overwhelming shock. He has an urge to just run out of here and find a spot no one can see him and break down and weep.

 _But it shouldn’t be!_  a rational part of John is protesting, a voice loudly screaming at the back of his mind.

“Doc, maybe it’s a mistake ...” he tries, helplessly, but Carson is shaking his head. It looks like the doctor is unsure whether to look happy or pitiful for him. Again, his chest compresses like someone is standing on it. “It has to be a mistake.”

 _Rodney,_ he thinks, choking on emotion. _Rodney._

* * *

He lies stiff and quiet and barely breathes as the scanner moves over him. It takes just seconds for images to form on the screen. On his insistence, Carson hasn’t let anyone know yet, not even any of the nurses, and this examination is done in secrecy. Just - he needs to make sure. Know. And then he will decide what to do.

What if Rodney doesn’t return? What if he can’t? What if someone is stopping him?

What if ... ?

_What if._

* * *

Carson makes sense of the data quickly. John can’t bring himself to look at the results. “Yes, it’s clear. You’re about a day along.”

“... A _day?_ You’re sure?”

There is just as much disbelief in the doctor’s voice, but he determinedly repeats the answer; “Yes. I’ve run every possible test to confirm it.”

“That’s, that’s not possible.”

And the doctor looks at him then, face shadowed, and John shudders. _He thinks that -_

“No,” he says quickly, sharply. “No. That hasn’t happened. Carson, I ... Rodney and I haven’t - for days. Before he ascended.” _And I could never let another touch me,_ is left unsaid but the other omega should know that. He’d fight and rather eat a bullet than let anyone else have him. “It makes no sense,” he finishes quietly, looking away. It makes no sense at all. “If I were pregnant, it should be like two weeks. I would _know.”_

And Carson can only look apologetic and say, “I’m sorry, son.” - because what other words can he offer? Still, John would rather have silence, so he can hold onto the belief that Rodney will return soon, that he’ll find a way back. That things will be explained. That loneliness will not be an option.

This shouldn’t be possible.

* * *

 _The dream_ , he remembers suddenly with vivid clarity. A dream within a dream. (Rodney’s presence cocooning him.) The light.

He’d thought it was just a dream.

* * *

For a moment there he had felt safer than anywhere.)For a moment he considers throwing it all away. Because this isn’t normal, babies don’t appear without sex and he’s pretty sure you can’t just magically have a clone or something growing inside you. But. No one else has touched him. No one but Rodney. And the alpha is ascended and bodiless now but, maybe - _no._

If. Could it? Could it be?

It’s ridiculous to think. But. Rodney knew, he’d delved into his mind those last few hours they had together and he’d seen his pathetic wishes and his fears. He knew him from the inside and out. If this is the last he’ll have of him, John cannot make himself abort.

* * *

Flipping a coin, he decides to tell Teyla first. She might not be that weirded out by the idea; she meditates often and had suggested, during that whale incident, that Ancients had tried to communicate with them while trapped between planes of existence. Now, that had turned out to be incorrect, but still. She probably comprehends the odder things about ascension more than anyone else, or at least would be more acceptive of them. He’s frankly not sure how Elizabeth will take it. She is, still, a practical woman. And Ronon will think it weird but not question it or John’s decision. With Teyla he can discuss it (even if he loathes talking and has no idea how).

She’s sparring with some of the marines in the gym when he finds her. There are greetings from the guys and he sees Mason there, and the Sergeant looks relieved at seeing the omega on his feet. John, feeling off-balance and a bit like he’s threading on paper, nods in his direction in greeting as he pauses in the doorway to watch Teyla club an unfortunate guy to the mat. Those blows with the bantos rods sure will leave bruises, and John winces appropriately as the man groans, picking himself up slowly. Teyla turns to him then with a surprised smile.

“John. I am glad to see you are well again. Did Carson release you from the infirmary?”

“Yeah, turns out it was no illness. Look, um,” he says, and at the tone she takes a step closer for which he is thankful; “can we talk? In private? It’ll just take a moment.”

“Of course.”

With a towel thrown across her shoulders she follows him out of the sweaty room, and he makes sure to take a path through empty corridors to a balcony where he knows they cannot be overheard. She is now frowning in concern. “John, what’s wrong?”

He sighs. There’s no meaning in beating around the bush. “I’m pregnant.”

Teyla’s eyes widen. “That’s wonderful news!” Then her expression shifts from softness to hardness rapidly like a dangerous tiger about to pounce, and he knows she must’ve noticed his sagged shoulders, his averted eyes.

“Nothing like that, Teyla. But Rodney’s been ascended for days. And. And this isn’t _possible,”_ he says, gesturing at his abdomen. “It just isn’t. He’s been missing for too long for this to have happened.”

“You mean you are...?”

“Only about a day along, Carson reckons. Which means the math doesn’t add up.”  
Her frown deepens at that. “That is ... disconcerting.”  
“Yeah.” He rubs his neck awkwardly. “We - well, I sort of have this ... thought. Ascended people can take human form, and we’ve seen them take it temporary and stuff ... And, well, I could use a second opinion. I haven’t -” And his ears burn because he never talks with _anyone_ about this, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed or ill at ease. “I haven’t been in heat for over a month. Still, if it could somehow happen ... if it could happen from a distance, then I wouldn’t know, would I? If it could happen.”

She nods. “Yes. I have read reports about ascension, and we encountered the Priestess on Proculus, though nothing of this sort occurred in either case. But there might be truth in what you say.” Then her warm brown eyes lift to meet his, and there is confusion and hope there, but no surge of pity for which he is extremely relieved. “You believe Rodney gifted you this?”

“Well, who _else?”_

And to that she cannot give an answer.

* * *

Ronon doesn’t ask complex questions unless he knows there is an answer to be given, one that he can comprehend. So he doesn’t ask (once it has been made clear that no one has forced himself upon him, in which case necks would be wrung and John doesn’t want to linger on the thought).  
He doesn’t ask if he’ll keep it, either. For the Satedan, John figures, such a question is dumb and obvious. In a world ravaged by Wraith and fear, an abortion is probably often out of the question. People here don’t have the freedom of choice. This isn’t Earth.

 _(One day,_ he’d promised quietly to his daughter after she’d fallen asleep to the sound of fairy tales, _one day Pegasus will be safe. We’ll make sure of it._ )

* * *

Perhaps he shouldn’t have let Elizabeth know so soon, before they have more answers, before he is utterly certain, but he finds himself at her office unannounced anyway. Since the mysterious illness hit Elizabeth has forbidden him and his team to go off-world for another twenty-four hours even though Carson has given them all a clean bill of health. Precautions are always necessary. But that was no sickness, and she needs to know as leader of the expedition that there is no risk of contamination or whatever, that Atlantis is safe and they can resume contact with the people of P8X-298. She might have been told there was no illness but nothing else and she looks fairly pleased at seeing him up and about already.

Then, her reaction is much like Teyla’s. Once the surprise has passed she is rather reserved and thoughtful. John had considered not telling her, not yet, or perhaps lie about due dates - but Carson has all the data stored somewhere and he has decided to keep the baby, and she might help find answers. She knows quite a bit about ascension after all. Even if this isn’t usually part of the deal, is it?

 _So few damn answers,_ he thinks as she frowns a little in mixed astonishment and worry when he tells her. He can’t blame her exactly either at how she must be trying to jump to conclusions and the only seemingly logical reasons for this pregnancy are dark, but he wouldn’t be sitting here calmly if what was the case.  
For a moment there is silence. She asks then what he plans to do. The IOA, he knows, will be displeased (or pissed off more like), but he cannot bring himself to care about that right now. He’s sure General Landry will have something to say about it. Of course he will; it was irresponsible of him to get pregnant the first time, but a _second_ time and without a mate present in the aftermath to boot?

And they know about Rodney - the weekly dial-up via Midway was four days ago.

(At the time, John had, shaken and pale, not been allowed to attend by Carson who’d given him sleeping tablets with a wary eye on him, and Ronon and Teyla had more or less stood guard over his bed. Probably to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid.)

* * *

Eventually the shock wears down enough for conversation.

“I think we could bend the truth a little,” Elizabeth says, “if it’s true what you believe and Rodney, well, truly is behind this...”

“I know it sounds weird, but it’s the only possible way,” John cuts in, arms crossed. Then a short laugh breaks free from his throat, raw and without humour. “Hey, this is Pegasus. Weird is what we do.”

A smile quirks her lips upward at that, but it fades into seriousness again. “John, _if_ you’re right, this implies that the child would be half-human and half-ascended.”

Crap, he hadn’t even thought of that - the certainty of the identity of the father, that it was Rodney and no one else, had overtaken such a thought completely. But, of course, it’s obvious now. Even if Rodney isn’t an Ancient, just happened to ascend thanks to one of their faulty machines (and John has made sure that the machine has now been destroyed and taken apart and erased from history); his very DNA had been altered by it, and that must have repercussions.

“The IOA will have a fit,” he predicts and Elizabeth nods.

“To put it mildly. Let’s just take is easy about this. Rodney has been missing for nearly a week. To claim that the baby was conceived a few days pre-ascension is not that much of a stretch,” she says. “We should speak with Carson about medical records.”

“Yeah. I haven’t told anyone except him, Teyla and Ronon anyway, so it shouldn’t be hard to alter some records. No one even knew he examined me that second time to make sure.”

“Am I right to assume you want to wait a while before any announcements are made?”

“Yeah, preferably.” That’ll give him more time before having to face the storm.

The alpha takes a breath, standing up. She’s probably more freaked out than she shows, the omega figures. Neither of them comments on this. “All right. Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

The ocean laps at the pier as he stands there - this is the spot, they have gone out here for a beer on late cloudless evenings and watched the stars wheeling overhead. They’ve come her in sunlight too and had silly picnics with Marie sitting in Rodney’s lap. They’d sat on his spot a hundred times, shoulder to shoulder, and laughed freely, for a moment forgetting about the rest of the world.

So many times they have stood here and kissed.

Exhaling and inhaling slowly, John closes his eyes.

_Come on, Rodney. I’m counting on you._

_Come on._

_Return._

* * *

It won’t matter that they’re not entirely truthful, John knows. Once words gets out ... And it’s not the folks back in the Mountain or the IOA that truly worries him.

They’ve had quite a lot of new people over the last few months coming to Atlantis. People who weren’t there the first year, cut off from Earth, when he’d hidden and served alongside them, when they had regarded him as an equal. Once he’d revealed his status as omega there’d been confusion and hesitance and, though it’s gotten a lot better, it lingers. He knows. There are no yelled words, but - he knows. Lorne has been heaven sent, truly, helping keeping the guys under wraps and stilling any rebellions, especially among the alphas. He figures they’re the ones having the hardest time obeying a CO like him. It’s one of the reasons he makes sure to spar and practice and mingle with them as much as possible - so that they’ll see he’s not that different, after all. To some marines it was bad enough, during their first lonely year cut off from Earth, that they had an Air Force in charge, beta or omega or whatever. That, thankfully, has changed. That year shaped a lot fates.

(Anyone who’s read the reports know about the storm and Kolya, about the sixty men he’d killed, heart furious and cold.)

Then when he’d gotten pregnant, that had stirred things up a bit. Perhaps, in a way, though being trapped in the Sanctuary was a hell - it was relief. For the base, at least for a moment. He’d been gone from their point of view for a couple of hours and they never had to deal with him in labour or seeing him waddling around, unable to perform his duties. On the other hand it’s the greatest regret of his life that he was locked in that valley for the final four months; that Rodney never got to see him; that no one was there for the birth but the ghost of their memory. The return had been chaotic and sudden. For them, at least, the figures. But the guys had ended up being supportive after all. Confused, a bit unsettled perhaps, but the first five months had helped them to get used to the idea.

The difficulty is whenever the Daedalus arrives with new people. They’re strangers and suddenly they have to get used to not only being in another galaxy, but in an alien city and with an omega as their CO. (He knows well enough that some of Ronon’s sparring matches hadn’t been on the Satedan’s own behalf, that there had been challenges issued that had nothing to do with the man himself. It doesn’t matter how he’s talked to the big guy about it, there’s no way to convince him to stop, so John has just learned to roll with it.) 

Marie is almost ten months old now. Over a year since the pregnancy; and people might just be getting used to the idea or have put it in the past or just don’t care anymore. Once the announcement comes, there’ll be questions as well as congratulations, and he isn’t certain how pleased Caldwell will be this time (even if the alpha has proved to be more pleasant to be around after they got that snake out of his head). General Landry will request he drops off the team immediately, probably, and that he begins flying desks which is something John just _doesn’t_ do. O’Neill might, on the other hand, take it better. Maybe. It’s difficult to tell.

There will be a second whirlwind coming. That is what he tries to prepare himself for.

* * *

And Rodney isn’t here. He will - one day - he’s sure of it. Right now though he’s on his own, and he tries to breathe through the pain and bear it, and keep hoping that it’ll work out.

_(It has to.)_

* * *

Eight days.

(They never leave people behind.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm so sorry for the very, very long wait...!  
>  I want to thank Kim12317, because your comment spurred me on again to keep this fic alive. You gave me the nudge I needed._

Then they lose contact with the new Taranan homeworld. 

Elizabeth knows better than to hold him back, though he gets a stern warning look. But he just can’t sit here and do _nothing._ Besides, maybe the Taranans just have some broken radio equipment or a generator isn’t working, which is why they aren’t responding to radio calls and it’s just a simple matter of repairs or replacements. Given how long he was on duty during his last pregnancy, this is nothing. Besides no one except for a selected few even know yet - he plans on telling Lorne sooner rather than later because the man will then be given some more duties because he’s pretty sure they’ll demand him to step down earlier this time for paternity leave. But for now he’ll wait, just a couple of days - if Rodney returns - until the next dial-up with Earth. Then.

(And this time he promises not to call it ridiculous to be told to step down. This time he’ll be more careful.)

* * *

Before they go, when he’s heading down to the lockers to gear up, Carson catches up with him in a corridor and pulls him aside so they cannot be overheard. Just to be assured that he’ll be careful. The Scot, John knows, with guilt, feels bad about not giving stricter orders during the first pregnancy, about letting him go off-world - letting him get caught in the time dilation field, letting him give birth alone. And though John has assured him that it’s OK and not his fault and it’s in the past now, just as he’s assured Rodney and Elizabeth and the team - Carson will not forget the matter (and he doubts that the team will, either).

Some things cannot be forgotten. John knows that too well, a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

There isn’t too much nagging. Just the general _Make sure you come back in one piece,_ and also, since his two teammates know; _Make sure they keep an eye on you, Colonel,_ and that’s an order that cannot be argued.

* * *

Staff Sergeant Mason is with them this time too and it won’t be a fiasco, John promises, there’ll be no sudden cases of passing out. Knowing this early about his baby has settled a strange kind of peace in him, a sense of calm. With Marie he’d been a bit freaked out at first, like unable to grasp it.

Now - even though the baby should be an impossible thing - he embraces it, and it feels good. Like it should be like this. Like this is the normal thing. _Perhaps,_ he muses with a quiet smile, _this is what they mean when they say people are glowing_ (in the figurative sense because he has seen people _literately_ glowing, and his memories of those times are sour).

* * *

Part of him wishes to hide, to hide in shame and fear and embarrassment. Part of him wishes to shout the truth to the world, the truth, his joy, his grief at this unexpected gift.

* * *

The settlement is quiet and deserted, not a life-sign in sight. This should have been their first clue not to enter the catacombs. But as they go down, one lone dot appears in the life-signs detector in John’s hand, and either it’s a survivor or it could be an enemy, a Wraith or some beast that’s broken in here. Either way, they cannot just go.

* * *

Ronon wanders off early and John is in mid-sentence, telling him clearly that it’s a bad idea to separate and especially without telling anybody, when they enter a small room; some sort of lab. There are various tools spread over the table and it seriously looks sick and twisted, and there’s an iratus bug in a container sitting there right in front of them. John involuntarily takes a step back and Mason, coming up behind them along with Teyla, stares at the thing. The Sergeant might have seen pictures - few have seen the real thing. “Bloody hell.”

It’s an illusion, the memory of the pain just a ghost, but John feels the sharp sting in his neck anyway. “This is not good. This is _not good._..”

* * *

Then they find the bodies. Each with a bloodied scar on their throat.

And the eggs - or cocoons, or whatever they are - a whole room full of them. Some C4 takes care of that but they cannot be sure there aren’t any more such chambers, and they can’t just leave. They need to take care of this, find whoever did this. It doesn’t seem like something a Wraith would do; no, someone else did this. A human. Or worse.

A whole people has been brutally murdered and John will be damned if they don’t catch the one responsible.

* * *

The beast (there is no other word to describe it) grabs Ronon from behind. The corridor is dark and cramped, they get only glimpses of a harsh shell, a tall deformed body, in the light from the bursts of fire. Shouting, Ronon manages to wrestle the thing off him, drawing the broad sword on his back, cutting off an arm as thick as Teyla’s leg with one stoke; it shrieks in pain, the noise deafening. John finds himself grabbed and flung into a wall as it flees. The pain comes like an aftershock, the vest having smoothed the fall some. Still, as Ronon pulls him to his feet there’s no mistaking their glances. He just shakes his head wordlessly, _It’s OK;_ Teyla nods back.

Mason doesn’t seem to notice this swift silent exchange at all, or at least doesn’t comment on it. He’s staring down the corridor where the creature fled, finger near the trigger of his P90. “What the hell was that thing?” the Sergeant asks, sounding a bit breathless. “That was no sucker.”

“It seemed to be very like a bug than a Wraith,” Teyla remarks and John groans.

“Great. Monster bugs. Just what we need.”

* * *

The second mistake is to leave the gate unguarded in the first place. They return since the requested backup isn’t responded to radio calls and there is no trace of them, just the MALP standing silently next to the DHD. The DHD that isn’t working. At all.

 _We’re so fucking screwed,_ John thinks, groaning. _Where the hell is Rodney when you need him?_

* * *

The backup team is dead, their necks torn open. John knows each of the men and curses silently at this turn of ill luck; another four lives uselessly taken. With no safe way to get the bodies to Atlantis they claim the dog tags.

Now, however, one thing is clear. This happened recently. Whoever behind this is on the planet. And that means they can find and kill them.

Ronon checks his gun with a click; fully charged.

* * *

Why can’t Rodney return now? Interfere. Whatever. Get his ass kicked back down here.

They need him. _John_ needs him.

* * *

When they finally find Teyla in a shielded portion of the underground network, she’s tied down to a table with a bug nearing her neck and only Ronon’s accurate aiming saves her. Then, they find out about Michael, and John’s blood runs cold.

As they frantically discuss how to sort the issue, Mason checks his P90 clip which had been almost emptied with the latest confrontation with that beast. Which, it turns out, is not the only one. With his experiments Michael has created possibly hundreds of these things, not just here but on other worlds too. His own private army of bugs. And this is the moment, usually, in the mission where Rodney would swear and rant and say that they’re screwed, and then come up with a brilliant plan to save their asses. But now he’s not here, and John has to change thinking strategy. He glances at the life-signs detector.

There’s a huge load of them. Three dozen at least. Far too many for them to fight; they had trouble just getting rid of _one_ of the beasts. But there is nowhere else to go; Michael has disabled the DHD. He must have gated in however and must be able to get off the planet. Maybe... “Maybe he has a dart somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Ronon asks. “First we got to kill these things. Then worry about darts.”

“I am not sure we can,” Teyla says, zipping up her vest. “There are a great number of them, and there may be other portions of this facility that are shielded. Though perhaps if there was a way to track down Michael ...”

Damn it. Rodney could have done that. Unshielded everything, recalibrated the life-signs detector...

“I think we’d better go toward the surface, sir,” Mason says, “and find a way to dial the gate, or we’ll be stuck.”

* * *

It is by chance they run into him anyway. Michael is shouldered by two beasts and they stand there like good guard dogs, obedient and growling, not pouncing yet. He looks weirdly pleased at seeing them, which only confirms John’s firm belief that the guy - half-Wraith or whatever he is - is crazy. And he is very proud of his hybrid army, apparently.

Before they can take a shot at him, two more beasts drop down from the vents and draw each of them into struggle. From the corner of his eye John sees Michael flee out of sight; but Ronon is quick at dispatching one beast, then two, with his sword. Mason, who’s been drawn a bit further down the corridor, manages to corner one with a stun grenade which at close proximity can also hurt a damn lot. Together he and Teyla get rid of the last one, but there are many more coming. They can’t stay here or they’ll be beast fodder, and they know it.

* * *

His mind on _Alien_ (except trying not to think of the part where pretty much the whole crew died) John has them crawling up the air shafts; by now the twin suns have set, the air cool and dark and filled with the noise of alien crickets. And there, unguarded because Michael had probably thought they’d never get this far alive, stands a lonely dart. The sleek canopy is open.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Ronon says, eyeing it with a dark smile.

John nods. “Yeah. I fly it, scoop you up and dial the gate using its DHD.”

“Oh. I was thinking about blowing it up, but your idea is better.” The omega spots Sergeant Mason struggling not to smirk at that. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They escape alive and without serious injury, but John still won’t consider it a win. Michael escaped. A whole people is wiped out, unless a few stragglers managed to escape, perhaps gate off-world before it was too late, or hide in the woods. The Daedalus has already been sent to the planet to check it out, but their hopes are slim.

If Rodney had been there...

 _What difference would it have made?_ he tells himself angrily, fists clenched. _If he’d been there as a human he’d risked dying as much as any other of us. If he’d come as ascended ... (there’d been a chance, maybe, to kill that bastard Michael and - )_

Does he even know? Has he noticed? Doesn’t he know the time passing?

* * *

“The bruising is very light. You were lucky, son,” Carson remarks in the infirmary half an hour later, in a room away from prying eyes. “That could have ended very badly.”

John shrugs helplessly. The doctor goes on, regardless, “Well, I’m pleased you returned on your feet and not on a gurney. Now, I’ve looked you over and first off you need to start putting on some weight.”

This is the part he doesn’t like. The soreness, the swelling joints, the weight-gain which seems inevitable (it took far too long to work off the remains from having Marie) and still the doctor had kept insisting, back then, that he _still_ was too fucking thin. Jeez, he’d hated the last few months, wobbling around. Unable to do anything useful. Not that it had mattered, stuck in the Sanctuary as he had been. Plus, there are standards. If he doesn’t keep fit he can’t stay on the team, can’t stay here - can’t keep up. He has to keep up. So he quietly looks away, arms crossed.

Carson knows that look. “You’re already a wee bit underweight to start with. It won’t be good for the little one, and you know that, John. I am not telling you to stop exercising, however. It’s good for you both. But I highly advise against sparring.”

“Already?” He’d kept sparring with both Teyla, Ronon and the Marines (taking advantage of the fact they were startled and careful and thus enabling him to beat them, albeit in hindsight slightly unfairly) up until week twelve before.

“Given how much trouble you seem to end up in all the time, we need to work on minimizing the risks,” the doctor states matter-of-factly. And well, he has a point, sort of. Still, he’s not going to fly a desk and sit in chairs all day and look on as his men save the day and work their asses off. “That includes sparring. I know that none of you pull their punches. Also, since most of the time your team go on missions to new planets for first contact and those are most likely to end more violently than I like, we should speak with Dr Weir about sending you to friendlier planets. Perhaps on trading missions. I know you can hold your own in a fight well, but mostly I am worried about effects from weapons like Wraith stunners.”

“I’ve been hit by them before while I was pregnant,” John says, recalling the sudden ambush by Ford’s guys - the memory is harsh, fresh still despite being so long ago.

“Yes, and luckily there were no ill effects then. But what if it happens again and again? Who knows what kind of repercussions that will have?”

He doesn’t want to lose the baby - this chance. Can’t allow that. But he has always been a soul wanting to break free. “All right,” he admits at last. “I’ll talk with Elizabeth.”

Perhaps it could be a respite. They always end up shooting and running for their lives more than preferable. Still, there is no journey through the Stargate that can be guaranteed a hundred per cent safe. Nothing ever is.

* * *

Heightmeyer is gentle in her faked understanding. She doesn’t stubbornly press him with questions or with answers, but she can be stubborn too, just as he. It is, or was at least to begin with, a waiting game most of the time. He’s never liked being coerced into sitting in her large office, under the sun rays falling from the wide windows, and have her scrutinizing gaze fixed on him. He never knows what to say, anyhow. But silence can be good sometimes too. Or Heightmeyer might read something from his quietness and say something anyway, something uplifting or whatever. And she knows how crazy things can be in Pegasus, having been here from the start.

The first few days after Rodney’s ascension - disappearance - after that, Elizabeth had made him come here, sit in the plush white couch but he hadn’t said anything other than that he wanted out, there was nothing they could do, he didn’t need help - Rodney would return. He couldn’t allow himself to let go of that conviction.

(They never leave people behind.)

He’d never admitted to her - to anyone - about the restless nights, or how difficult it is to fall asleep, about dreaming of Atlantis sinking under the crashing waves of a planetary storm.

Now Carson has him here again, the door clicking shut behind him, and he hands over the documents the doctor had prepared for Heightmeyer to read, details on the pregnancy that no one else but him and John know. They can’t let the full truth be overheard; but Heightmeyer should be in on this, Elizabeth agreed.

 _(If,_ she hadn’t said aloud but meant, _if Rodney doesn’t return._ Because separation can cause lovers to slip into madness and not find a way back.)

* * *

The walk back to his quarters is quiet, no one echoing his steps.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s time for the weekly dial-in with Earth again but John doesn’t send the word yet. He wants to wait for a while. And there is a risk, there always is, that he’ll ... - That the baby might be lost; _if it is to happen it will most likely be during the early days_ , Carson had said, gently, aware of his fears. But Rodney had healed him and given him this. All the scar tissue from the surgery has completely faded. Perhaps he put in failsafes as well.

If only Rodney would return and _tell him._

* * *

He’s more prepared to announce the news in the dial-up after this. Or the one after. After Rodney’s return - when he returns. Or when he’ll start showing and there’ll be no going back. He’s already drafted the message, requesting leave and asking permission to stay on base off active duty when the time nears - so long from now. Nine months, it feels like forever; a lot can happen in nine months. But Elizabeth quietly urges him to hit send, because this cannot be kept under wraps forever and it is better the SCG gets confirmation early and from him directly instead of from rumours.

In the message there’s no mention of altered medical files or ascension or strange dreams. (There is no mention of grief.)  
John wonders, when all has been said, if the reply will begin with: _We are sorry for your loss_. Or perhaps, now that without Rodney, with him as the key and the lock keeping

them safe: _You have forty-eight hours to return to Earth and hand over your resignation._

(Without Rodney Atlantis may be slowly falling apart. People may have begun to realize this. And some might have started understanding, also, that the man was the major thing that allowed John to linger, to be promoted, to make his home here. If they hadn’t complied, Rodney would have packed up and gone before anyone could exclaim: _Both dead and alive like Schrödinger’s cat!_ )

Rodney still hasn’t returned.

* * *

He sends an email to Dave. He can’t bring himself to spell out details, unable to tell the whole truth. But:

 _Dave,_ he writes, _there is a chance I will be coming stateside in about five or six months. Or possibly very soon, depending on what the brass decide. Just wanted to warn you that I might give a call._

He doesn’t write: _Rodney’s missing. He might not return._

Instead: _If it’s the latter case, I’ll be coming alone._

Dave is still somewhat of a stranger, but maybe he can read between the lines.

* * *

Tomorrow is a Sunday.

* * *

There is no message furiously shouting: _Get your ass back to Earth ASAP_. Elizabeth had slipped the word discretely, carefully, labelling the message 'For the Eyes of Generals O’Neill and Landry Only'.

And John thinks that maybe O’Neill likes him more than Landry does (or at least the IOA) because the one from the latter is short, clear, formal; leave five months from now is acceptable. Which is at least a relief in all this chaos. In case Rodney never returns, he might find someplace to bury himself.

The one from General O’Neill is rather amused in its sorrow. There are snatches of _I’m sorry about McKay_ (the General never liked him that much, John knows, but the man has lost a son and a wife. He knows the lingering grief) - but also a smile, genuine or not, behind the _Congratulations! I’d send champagne, but I assume the doctor responsible for the health of our personnel there wouldn’t be too fond of it._ There is also a mention of: _Make sure to kick some Wraith ass before leave, Colonel, and we’ll make sure that Major Lorne keeps up the good work until you’re back,_ which is rather refreshing to hear.

John hasn’t broken into a genuine smile for days.

* * *

Rodney has been missing for twelve days when an explosion threatens to rip apart one of the towers.

* * *

The scene is total chaos. The lights are either completely out or flickering weakly in the corner; an alarm is crying somewhere, automatically, and there’s the acid smell of sharp smoke and fire lingers around the burned edges of the blast range. Glass and otherworldly steel and twisted wire is splintered on the floor and the nearest staircase is slightly twisted. Bodies are scattered; there’s blood and broken cries. In the shadows people are dying.

When he gets there, breath latched in his throat, at least three medics have already arrived. The first thing he sees is Teyla, bloodied and half-awake and with a large piece of shrapnel in her side. The medics are already rushing her away before he can talk to her.

* * *

A bomb has just gone off.

There is a second one waiting.

* * *

Ronon had suggested they go off-world for a while. Visit New Athos or another friendly place where they won’t get shot at; a change of scenery. And John had been touched because he knows that’s not how Ronon would usually wish to spend his day off. But he’d already persuaded Teyla to relax and spend time with friends not part of the team, and she had reluctantly gone but understood his need of solitude. Ronon, on the other hand, just won’t go; so an outing is really the best option.

A rucksack with baby things had already been packed and Marie secured in the safety seat (built by Radek and Rodney three months earlier) in the co-pilot seat of jumper one, and they’re half-way through the bay, ready to dial, when the alarms begin to whine.

* * *

Radek is scanning the walls, now charred, where the explosion occurred. His hair is at disarray, glasses constantly slipping down his nose. Lorne is nearby trying to clear the area and help with the wounded, along with several other marines, and in the chaos no one pays heed to the colours stuck under the Major’s fingernails.

“What happened?” John demands angrily. This can’t be. This can’t have happened. Not here, now. It’s not like the threat of the bomb seven months ago; the ZPM overloading would have left no planet behind. No, this is different yet far too alike.

“I’m not sure,” the Czech answers, reading from his datapad with a frown. “Is very odd. We have a few eye-witness accounts and they saw Dr Hewston standing here when, suddenly, she just ... exploded.”

John feels a chill settle over him. Hewston is - was - on the twelfth gate team and one of the physicists in Rodney’s department. She and Teyla got along well, he knows, he’s seen them sparring in the gym often enough. “Suicide bomb?”

“That’s what I first thought, so I have scanned the area but there is not the _slightest_ trace of explosive residue. Colonel, we have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

* * *

Three people are dead, a dozen wounded. There’s frenzy, confusion, fear. Elizabeth speaks with calm collection but John knows she has been thrown off-balance too. Carson is busy operating on the wounded and Radek is investigating all possibilities.

John wishes Rodney was here. He’s fix this. He’d know what to do.

Now Atlantis just doesn’t function as a well-oiled machine, but as something ragged and broken with missing pieces.

* * *

Then Radek remembers: the strange machine investigated by Dr Hewston and Watson the night before, which they’d shut off but just too late, too late, because it wasn’t just any kind of radiation it had emitted. Only no one knew in time.

Explosive tumours - of all things. It sounds like a sick joke. Only the Ancient variation of it; another failed experiment, another mess they left behind for others to clean up.

 _Everything is so fucked up_ , John thinks, rushing to grab the nearest radio to order Carson to evacuate immediately because that tumour is going to go ff any second and he can’t operate. There is no time. The man is dead anyway.

* * *

But Carson won’t listen.

“Carson! I am _ordering_ you to get out of there _right now_.”

“No,” the doctor insists, so stubborn and kind, oh too fucking kind and selfless and he won’t let them drag him out of there. “I can save this man.”

And then he locks himself in.

* * *

They try breaking through the quarantine. By the time they’re through it’s been too many long minutes and it’s too late, it’s all _too late_ , and Carson carries the secured box with the extracted explosive with careful hands. But fragility has nothing to do with it and one layer of metal casing won’t contain it.

No one is present to see the explosion. No one sees the shimmer of white light, wrapping abruptly like a shield around the Scot, desperately keeping out the heat. They only hear it: a whining alarm again, the tremble of the walls, a flicker in the lights.

John rushes through the corridors with a thundering heart. It cannot be. First Rodney. Now Carson.

_No! no! no!_

* * *

The walls are ashen and slightly twisted and there is nothing left of the tumour.

There are two bodies. It makes no sense - the heat should have incinerated almost everything. But there are two bodies, and one of them is stark naked, face-down on the floor, partly lying atop of the first. The first body looks untouched, skin pale and almost newborn, without scars; the second ... the second is charred.  
John skids to a halt in shock, unable to comprehend. To take it in.

Twelve days. It’s been twelve days.

And now. Rodney is -

Then, he rushes into motion like a puppet on strings, falling onto his kneels beside the two forms. They are still, so still, unmoving, breathless. Hands not entirely steady he begins to roll them over; Rodney is warm to the touch. Warm, alive. There’s a pulse. Behind him he becomes aware of many feet crossing the floor, voices calling for medics, someone shouting his name across the radio. But Carson ... He looks at the omega, breath hitching, anger lacing in his throat - they should have acted faster, gotten him out of there sooner -

“Rodney? Rodney.” The alpha doesn’t stir. John presses the man up against him anyway, just to feel his heartbeat against his own. “Carson? Doc?”

There’s a small moan, confused, pained. The burns ... oh god, the _burns._ The alpha must have tried shielding him but a millisecond matters when there’s an explosion. A millisecond too late.

But they’re alive. They’re alive.

He senses Elizabeth’s scent as she nears before he hears her voice, dim over the lingering smoke. “John, what ... Oh my god.”

The medics are quick to lift Carson onto a gurney. For a moment the man’s eyes flicker open on an unrecognizable face and he mumbles incoherently, something about bright lights, before he’s carried away. Someone’s kneeling next to him, John realizes, but he’s unable to stop staring at Rodney’s face. He’s here - he’s here, alive, real. Human. He’s human again. “Colonel, we have to move him. You have to let go,” someone is says softly, urging him to unclasp Rodney’s wrist. It takes a moment to obey. He doesn’t want to obey.

There is another voice, closer: he knows it, it is talking sternly but gently, the grip compassionate. “We got to lift him,” Ronon’s saying, prying the alpha free from John’s grasp. “Got to get to the infirmary. Stay with him.”

 _What happened?_ people are asking, and John can just look at them as confused as them, in a daze, breath hitched - _I don’t know._

(But he can guess.)


End file.
